Hello, Stranger
by Silver Maze
Summary: 7x17 AU. Sam and Dean stumble upon Emmanuel earlier than the canon. Because of faulty memory, Emmanuel runs, thinking that he is a monster.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Dean, are you sure going to this Emmanuel guy is wise?" Sam asks as he follows his brother into the car. It's good that Dean's fruitless obsession over Dick has been put to a rest for a moment, but Dean obsessing over Sam is worse. The 40-year trip down to Hell is a stellar example of how not good it is.

"Sam, I know this is a long shot, okay? But we have to try. What's the harm in trying, huh?"

With their luck, posing that kind of question is akin to just asking for it. Sam deliveres this sentiment with his dubious glance. He knows how toxic false hope can be, and with Leviathans messing around, he doesn't think they can afford this kind of futile search.

"Look, Sam," Dean says a bit impatiently. "Either this guy is legit and you get cured, or he's a total scam and we go back to ganking monsters while figuring out how to deal with Leviathans. That's all I'm suggesting."

"And if he's like the other faith healer we met?" Sam inquires quietly. "What if curing me means killing somebody?"

That is the real reason he doesn't want to go. If Emmanuel can actually heal, there is a high chance that he would require an innocent sacrifice for his power to work. In that case, no matter what event would take place, it would ultimately lead to Dean hating himself more. Since option A is throwing a civilian under the bus and option B is giving up on a cure dangling right in front of them, it isn't a difficult guess to make. Sam doesn't want to put his brother in that cruel, no-win position.

Dean's jaw flexes. "Then we've got a case to solve."

The younger brother sighs. That is the-end-of-the-discussion voice, and at this point, he knows better than to argue his way out.

"So, what pinged him on your radar?" Sam questiones as a way of offering an olive branch. Dean flicks him a brief 'don't patronize me' glare, but begins to explain.

"I stumbled upon Emmanuel while I was looking at one of Dick's interview. You know, where that son of a bitch bullshit about how he is going to revolutionize food industry and cure world hunger or something?

Anyway, at the end of the article, there was this colorful comment ranting about Biggerson's and Dick and how the only miracle worker he had witnessed was Emmanuel and not Dick. So I followed this commenter and found his blog."

"Wait," Sam frowns. His brother's narrative makes no sense. "Dude just sounds like a regular hater. A well desreved hatred, but still. Why did you search for his blog?"

"You're asking that because you haven't seen that comment, Sam. It was a beautiful masterpiece of insults packed into few words. Somebody had to appreciate it and figure out its origin."

Sam levels him a flat look.

"What?" Dean raises one hand defensively. "You try staring at that smarmy face for hours. That comment was near cathartic."

"Alright," the younger brother drawls in a tone that clearly states otherwise. "You found the blog, and?"

"The guy's posts were full of volunteer works, charity projects and other do gooder things. I know, unexpected, yeah? So I skimmed along, and came across this two feet length of praise dedicated to Emmanuel," the older man pauses for dramatic effect. "Apparently, Emmanuel cured the guy's blindness."

If Dean was waiting for a round of applause, he would have to be disappointed. Sam was only feeling skeptical. "So? That kind of life altering story is easy to fabricate. You sure Emmanuel didn't pay the guy so he could gather his followers?"

"Yeah, I thought so, too. But Emmanuel did nothing but cure the guy. No surmon, no talk about God, nothing. According to the blogger, Emmanuel said that he was only trying to help."

"Ever heard about long con, Dean?"

"Shut up, smartass. I also found few others who claimed that they got Emmanuel's help. They all got no string attached treatment. And get this, he can cure craziness, too."

Now, even Dean sounds cynical about what he was trying to sell. Sam knows that this was desperation talking. He also knows what triggered it. At their last hunt, the younger man almost got himself killed because he couldn't see a knife flying toward him. Lucifer blocked his line of sight. And Sam, in his disoriented state, had blurted that fact out to his overprotective brother. This whole Emmanuel business was Dean's Hail Mary.

"Well, the guy sounds suspicious at least. Let's see how it goes," Sam allows as he settles himself more comfortably in his seat.

The thing is, Sam really wants to believe his brother. More than that, he wants to believe that sometimes, good things happened just because. But unfortunately, in their line of work, good deeds are often only a flimsy cover for terrible atrocities. Hell, even angels are bunch of dicks despite their reputation. How could he continue to hold onto that childish notion?

Sam just hopes that Dean wouldn't get hurt too badly in this trip.

* * *

AN:

This is the edited version of the fic on ao3 under the same title. Please R&R! Constructive criticism is welcome :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Daphne knows that there are evils around the world.

She is not talking about greed and hatred that drives people to unspeakable deeds. She is talking about things that lurk outside of perception of normality, things that are beyond mere human cruelty.

She doesn't want to think about it.

She walks vigorously to get away from it all, but there comes a point where she has to stop. She pants harshly. The wind from the riverside sweeps through her, taking all the warmth away from her. That's why she's shivering. She's not thinking about that night.

The horror is still fresh, even though it has been 6 months ago.

It's not everyday that you stumble upon your co-worker torturing other people with look of sheer delight.

Daphne moved out of the town almost immediately after the incident. It was her home town, but she couldn't stand to be there anymore. She was not naive enough to think that monsters wouldn't be able to follow her wherever she went, but her mind screamed _getawaygetawaygetaway_ so that was what she did.

Daphne is uncertain on how to process all this. While she is thankful that Hunters was there to save her that day, they didn't linger much for aftercare. One of the women thrust a necklace that was supposed to stop possession at Daphne and gave a brief Protection Against Demons 101-Demons hate salt and holy water, and their eyes turn black when you say 'Christo'-, but that was it. Apparently, when you make a ruckus with guns, and salt and burn down a corpse(the possessed man had been dead for months, and you didn't want him to haunt you according to them), the police tended to come. It didn't leave much time to talk.

To be more exact, she couldn't talk, period, because nobody would believe her.

Well, here's another thing people wouldn't believe, she thinks as she blinks in surprise. A naked man was looking around himself few feets ahead of her. Is he, her now unfrozen brain asks, is he a goddamed flasher? Her incredulity morphs into a hot burning anger. Life has thrown so much shit at her recently, and now this pervert is going to ruin her nice hike along the river?

She stalks toward him heedless of the danger that the man could present. She feels absolute certainty in her fury and that is something she has been lacking for months. She simply needs it and damn the consequences.

However, as she gets closer to him, it becomes more and more clear that the guy is far from a flasher who would be delighted in young women's discomfort. Yes, he is staring at her, but there is nothing smug in his eyes. He practically radiates a sense of being confused and lost. The water dripping down his face only makes him seem more miserable.

He looks, she reluctantly admits to herself, like he has almost drowned and just dragged himself out.

"Christo," she bites out, warring between comforting anger and human concern.

The confusion deepens in his reassuringly blue eyes.

Not a demon, that's good. She briefly wonders if she ought to worry whether or not he is some kind of other creature, but ultimately decides that she has to check if the guy is okay first. She has spent nearly three decades without having a fatal account with supernatuaral beings bar that one night, and she can't let a possible patient suffer just because of her (justifiable) paranoia. Besides, if the guy was going to kill her, he would have already done something.

"Hey," she says, carefully out of his reach just in case. "Can you tell me what you are doing here?"

"I... I don't know," the man answers in a surprisingly deep yet soft voice.

That is unexpected, but Daphne is undaunted. "What's the last thing you remember, then?"

"I remember," the man frowns, searching within himself for information. "I remember nothing."

A pause.

"Excuse me?"

The man shakes his head, eyes opened wide. A panicked air began to seep into him. "I can't remember anything. I don't know who-, I'm not-," he clicks his mouth shut. He seems at a loss for words. His eyes latches onto hers desperately like she has all the answers.

"Do you know who I am?"

She relaxes slowly. It is how hopeful yet broken he sounded that finally convinces her. At that moment, she knows that the man couldn't be anything but yet another human being who has been screwed over by life. "No, I don't know who you are," Daphne took a determined breath. "But I'm going to help you however I can."

* * *

Emmanuel is grateful. He only has a handful of memories, and he is still not apt at handling everyday human life smoothly, but he is aware of how good a life he had. He really can't thank Daphne enough.

When he first came across her, he was like a baby. He had no memory. He didn't know when to eat and when to sleep. Basically, he failed at everything that adult his age was supposed to be able to do without even thinking. Daphne has been eternally patient as she showed him the way.

"Why are you so kind to me?" He once asked her.

"You are making me sound like some kind of saint," she laughed self-deprecatingly. "I don't think I deserve that. It's kind of selfish, to be honest. Helping you helps me a lot."

"I don't know why that should negate the fact that you're kind."

Her smile softened. "You're kind, too. Sometimes, I think God wanted me to find you."

_God wanted me to find you._

Those words somehow resonates within him. Emmanuel. God is with us. It was funny how he chose that name even before Daphne mentioned anything about God.

"Daphne, you sure you don't want me to heal you?" He checks as he readies himself to leave.

"It's just a fever, Emmanuel. I have my medicine right here. A good day's rest is all I need," the woman gave him a fond smile. The loose shirt she has on makes her look much softer. "You should use your gift for far more important things."

He wants to protest that this is important, too, but gives up as he knows how stubborn Daphne can be. Instead, he promises that he would return with her favorite drink from the Nancy's.

Emmanuel found about what Daphne liked to call as 'his gift' two months ago. They had been taking a walk when they came across a blind homeless man begging for money. Something in that scene was familiar. The man's whitened out eyes, the silver cane lying across his knees, the flowers peeking out of the pavemet, they mixed together and compelled the amnesiac to get close. Emmanuel soon found himself crouched down in front of the man, putting a gentle hand across his eyes. The blind man sputtered at the sudden contact, but subsided as he blinked his eyes open in surprise.

"...I can see. How did you fix my -," the homeless man swallowed hard. "Are you God?"

The awe in the man's voice made the amnasiac quizzy for some reason.

"No, I'm only trying to help," Emmanuel said, shutting the question down quickly. He scanned the man's face intently. "Was I able to help?"

The man goggled for a moment. "Yes, yes, absolutely." He brushed his eyelids softly, like the darkness would descend upon him once again if he dared to put more pressure on them. "Thank you," came out a heartfelt gratitude. It was followed by an enthusiastic hug.

Emmanuel turned to Daphne, trying to figure out what to make of this, but stopped as he saw her expression. It was hard to define, but was that ...fear?

"Daphne?" He asked as the man disappeared. "Daphne, what is it? Did I do something wrong?"

She didn't respond. She looked haunted. Emmanuel didn't want to be responsible for that look.

"I just wanted to help," no, that wasn't quite right. He searched for the right words. He wanted her to understand. After a while, he said quietly, "I need to help."

That seemed to bring her out of her stupor. Her green eyes locked onto his, looking for something. Whatever it was, apparently she found it, for her shoulders began to relax.

"Daphne?"

"Yeah, I-, sorry I froze like that. I was just reminded of something."

He stared at her in question but she shook her head. "Did you really cure the blind?"

"I guess so."

"How?"

"I wish I could remember," he answered wistfully. At Daphne's guilty expression, he quickly said, "it's okay, Daphne. But I just, I want you to understand, I need to help people." By the end of it, he was nearly pleading. He couldn't figure out why he was feeling so desperate.

Daphne grasped his hands, and gave them a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to convince me. I was just surprised," she waited until he looked her in the eyes. "Not many people can do what you did, Emmanuel. It's a gift. And if you want to use it to help people, I'll support you 100%."

And support him she did. It turned out, even though there were many who could benefit from his healing ability, those who would put their faith in, well, 'an unknown faith healer' as he was referred to as, were few. Daphne handled contacting people and soothing few religious fanatics who began to hear a word about Emmanuel. She joked that she knew her experience as a secretary would come in handy one day.

Emmanuel doesn't know how to repay her for all she has done for him. If she allowed him to heal her, he would have happily made sure she wouldn't have to suffer any illnesses in her life as a token of his gratitude. He doesn't understand why curing her cold could be considered a waste, but nonetheless he respects her wish. It is a pity that getting Daphne her favorite drink was all he could do at the moment.

* * *

"Sam, just because you bought me coffee doesn't mean that our date is a success. You've got to put more effort into it."

Sam grits his teeth as he tries to focus on his laptop. As if to compensate for yesterday's silence, Lucifer is now being particularly insistent. The hunter wants to shout that he is never buying the Devil anything, but acknowledging him would only make things worse. He wonders if he should have gone with Dean to interview Emmanuel's 'patient'. Not looking weird while his hallucination was breathing down on his neck would have been difficult, but being alone with the Satan with no one to distract him was no picnic, either.

"Ooh, new comer," the Morningstar croons as the bell rang. Despite his vow to ignore Lucifer entiterly, Sam's head turned toward the door.

"Hello, Jenny," says the deep voice. _Hello, Sam_, echoes the memory.

No, no, no.

"Hey, are you alright?"

Sam doesn't know when the new guy has come so close. "Uh, what?" He makes an attempt at intelligent reply.

"Your hand," the guy makes a motion toward his left hand as if to touch it, but stops abruptly. That is when Sam realizes that he is standing up, and that he must have spilt his coffee in his haste to move.

"It's fine, um, the coffee wasn't hot," Sam replies belatedly. He was amazed that he could still string the words together at this point.

The man nods determinedly. "I'll get you some tissues."

As he watches the man walk away, Sam sank down to his seat, feeling weak in the knees. And of course, the Devil couldn't leave him alone. The coffee dripping down from the edge of the table suddenly turns into a black goo. Sam jerks back in surprise, but a solid presence stops him from retreating further.

"Hey, you should look more happy to see my baby bro," Lucifer comments as he leans casually on the hunter's shoulder. "He's the one who made you remember all our happy time together, you know?"

Sam closes his eyes. He doesn't know why Lucifer is doing this now. He has hallucinated many things, but Cas has never been one of them. Why the sudden addition to his torture routine? The approaching footsteps makes him open his eye's again. Castiel's face is staring at him with concern and it hurt.

"You seem to be in pain. Should I have brought some ice as well?" The Cas look-alike asks as he carefully dabbs the goo- no, the coffee away.

"Ah, no need. I, have been sitting here for awhile. The coffee was," Sam squeezes his right hand brutally under the table, willing himself to snap out of it. "Lukewarm."

"Oh, come on, Sam!" Lucifer throws his hands up even as he flickers in and out. "Stop being so civil! You stabbed him in the back the last time you saw him. Where's that fighting spirit?"

Sam curls his hand more tightly. The coffee stains on the tissues regain their brownish color, and Lucifer fizzles out entirely, but the man still remains. Does that mean that this is really Cas? But if so, why is he bothering with tissues?

"You're bleeding."

The familiar voice snaps Sam out of his musing yet again. He mumbls something about old scars while mentally searching for clues that would tell him that he is actually seeing Cas. Of course, the reason hallucination sucks so bad is that it makes you incapable of trusting your judgement 100%.

The man gathers the used tissues carefully and gives a conflicted glance between the counter and Sam. "Listen," the brunet says after a moment of indecision. "I have to go for now. Daphne is waiting for me. Um, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?"

Dumbfounded by the request, Sam automatically hands both items to the man. He scribbled down something rapidly. "This is my number. Call me, and I'll-, I can heal you." Here, the man gives Sam an earnest look. "I truly can. So if your hand or anything hurts, please call me."

The hunter manages a feeble nod. Apparently satisfied with this response, the man turns his back, picks up something from the counter, and disappears into the street. Sam stares after the guy until he can't see him anymore. The sticky feeling in his left hand is the only thing that remains to tell him that something has happened.

Sam rubs his eyes tiredly and groans.

_What is he supposed to tell Dean?_


	3. Chapter 3

AN:

Reviews inspire me ;) Thank you for lovely comments, Aini NuFire and CertafiedGeek!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Thank you," Daphne smiles as Emmanuel sets down a plateful of chicken soup in front of her. It has been years since someone has pampered her like this. If she didn't insist, Emmanuel would have delivered her meal to her while she was still lying on her bed. Which even her mom would only have done while she was deathly sick, not this barely there fever.

"Microwave did most of the job," the man shrugs dismissively.

"Still," she persists. "Thank you for indulging me." She doesn't let go until he accepts her thanks with a bashful nod.

It is a recently acquired habit of Daphne, making sure that her compliments and appreciation properly sink into the ridiculous man she lives with. About a month ago, she found Emmanuel standing still with a befuddled look on his face when grateful people hugged him. She began to pay attention after that and noticed that he seemed to be genuinely unware of how much good he was doing. There was being humble and not valuing himself and the man was sadly closer to the latter. She couldn't let that go on and has started her own effort to change his point of view.

"You're welcome," Emmanuel allows at last with a shy tilt of his head, and Daphne finds herself beaming brightly.

Sometimes, she wonders if this attitude has something to do with his family. She knows nothing about them since Emmanuel himself has no memory, but the way he locked up when she once asked him if he remembered his parents or siblings... All his expression drained away and only a terrifyingly blank shell had stared back at her. It had been enough for Daphne to back off and promise that she wouldn't try to search for his family until he was ready. He didn't seem to understand why she had changed her tune so fast, but at the same time had never broached the topic again.

It makes her feel a bit guilty. Shouldn't she have tried harder to help him get back to his original life? She is no longer sure whether she made that decision because she respected his choice or because she didn't want to say goodbye. First two months in, she could have confidently say that she was only trying to help. But as time went by, she began to realize how alone she felt ever since the demon incident, and how much Emmanuel soothed that ache away.

She wants him to stay.

"Excuse me," Emmanuel winces as his phone rang shrilly. He fumbles his pocket for the source of the noise and finally answered, "hello?"

As Emmanuel doesn't feel it necessary to seek privacy, Daphne can hear the one-sided conversation perfectly well. It goes like this:

"Yes."

"Oh, sorry. It didn't occur to me... my name is Emmanuel."

"Yes, I'm him."

"Where are you staying? I do know where that place is."

"Of course. I'll see you tomorrow."

Daphne can hear a faint beep noise as the call ends.

"Your new patient?" Daphne asks curiously. Emmanuel doesn't usually give out his direct number to people he hasn't already healed. After an unfortunate fiasco of a man accusing Emmanuel of being the Devil who came to tempt people astray with his fancy ability, Daphne has manned the new patient phone calls exclusively. Emmanuel only gave out his numbers to people who were truly adamant at keeping contacts with him. Sally, a girl who had leukemia, for example, had to practically bar the door when the healer tried to disappear without hearing any thanks.

"Yes, I met him on Nancy's. I didn't stay for long because you were waiting for me," his eyebrows furrows, transcribing guilt. "I said tomorrow because you seemed to be doing well, but should I have picked another date?"

"What, like right now?" she teases lightly. She doesn't know what made the man to reach out to this new patient, but she trusts his judgement. "Emmanuel, I said I was fine this morning. I have to go work tomorrow anyway. Go and do what you want. I know that you love helping people."

Emmanuel gives her his small, genuine smile. She knows she said the right thing.

"Just be careful, okay?" Daphne frets. Whenever he goes out alone, a small part of her is afraid of a demon coming to take him. Emmanuel is so good and innocent that it seems only appropriate that a twisted creature like a demon would surely want him. She only had one encounter so far, but that is enough to give her a nightmare.

She hates the fact that there is so little she could do about the supernaturals. People, she could vet them and call the police, but demons? She can't fight them off. She only salted her house, stocked up holy water, and gave Emmanuel a copy of her necklace, claiming it to be a good luck charm that he should always carry with him. That was the best she could do.

It doesn't help that Daphne can't tell him about supernatural beings. Part of her silence is because she herself doesn't know much about the subject, but mostly it is because she could practically see Emmanuel blurting out the truth at inopportune moments. Being a terrible liar is a part of his charm, but it doesn't help in not being considered psychotic. People would notice his blank memory and be more convinced of his mental illness. And there is no way she is going to let him be considered as a lunatic.

"You know I'm always careful," Emmanuel reassures her, blissfully unaware of the extent of her worries. She thinks perhaps it would be better if he doesn't figure it out for a long time. She has a feeling that if he were to be aware of monsters and all the damage they could cause, he would break himself to fix the whole world.

If there is one thing Daphne Allen knows for sure about Emmanuel, it is this.

He has too much heart.

* * *

Dean flips the knife around his hand. His hands are clammy. He doesn't like it. He tries to walk off his nerve. He curses the motel room for being so small. Eight and a half steps and he has to turn around again. It is nowhere near satisfying.

He doesn't know what to think about this possible connection between Emmanuel and Cas. God, he should have worked it out faster. He means, just how many tall dudes with dark hair and blue eyes does he know that also happens to have a healing ability? He feels so stupid. The betrayal rips his heart once again. If Emmanuel was really him, that meant that bastard had been hiding out here the whole time while Dean was having nightmares and-

"Dude, calm down," Sam calls out.

Dean whirls toward him and sends a deathly glare. "I'm calm. I'm freaking calm considering we have a dead angel playing faith healer here."

"Dean," his brother intones cautiously, brows wrinkling gently. "You know that it may not be him. With Lucifer... he could have just- made Emmanuel look like him."

Yeah, and this is why he hates the fucking hallucination. He wants it to be certain. His mind is playing ping pong with which way he would prefer - Cas or some fraud or another reaper leasher for all he cares- but if it is set in stone he could figure out how to proceed. This is all kind of messed up.

A knock came.

"I'll get it," his little brother says pointlessly. He finds that vexing. Sam is the one who met Emmanuel, of course it has to be him. Why does he have to say that? Dean stops pacing, and nods cultly. He steels himself for whatever it is to come.

Sam strides toward the door with two flasks in his hand, one filled with Borax and the other filled with holy water. He opens the door, but his big mass prevents the other man from seeing anything else.

"Hey, Emmanuel. Um, it might sound strange, but pour this on your hand and drink this before you come in?"

From the lack of screaming, Dean gathers that it is neither a demon nor a Leviatgan that has visited them.

Sam finally gets out of the way.

Dean sees Cas.

Cas is standing there, like nothing has happened. Like he didn't walk into the river and to his own bloody death the last time Dean saw him. It is Cas, in a dark shirts and pants, slightly different, but still him.

Dean is so completely floored that he almost forgets to breathe. Even his previous anger and irritation desert him, making him gape with no anchor. He has hoped and despaired and he is not ready for this.

"Do you want to test that one on me, too?"

It's him, Dean feels it in his guts. _Emmanuel_'s voice is softer, but it is still painfully familiar. It takes a few seconds to actually register the question.

"What?"

"Your knife, I just have to make a little scar, right?"

He forgot about it. What the hell. "Yeah, that, right," he numbly passes the knife along and sees the red blood welling on the man's wrist. And that's it. This is really...

"I'm curious, what kind of culture is this?" Emmanuel asks as he rolls his sleeve down. The brothers does a double take, but the man continues on, oblivious of the others' reaction. "Not everybody insisted that I do this, but there had been a couple of people."

Emmanuel looks around the room, as if he is expecting the Winchesters to teach him a new aspect of life. He seems truly clueless. For one desperate second, Dean toys with the notion that Cas is trying to fool them, but the angel couldn't have mastered the art of lying in less than a year. Even Dean, who has been hustling since he was a teenager, is not that good of an actor. He feels like someone yanked the rug from under his feet once again.

"Do you have a brother named Jimmy?" Sam blurts out beside him. Dean doesn't know whether he should pet his brother on the back for forming a semi-rational thought or roll his eyes at the absurd direction of that thought. This isn't a Star Trek episode. A twin? Come on. The little shit just makes a face that says, 'Somebody had to ask this'.

Emmanuel tilts his head to the side with a frown. It hurts.

"I don't know. Why do you ask?" the man questioned.

"Curiousity, I guess," Sam shrugs, feigning disinterest. Dean, however, can see the cogs running frantically behind his brother's eyes, trying to understand what the hell Emmanuel/Cas is trying to pull. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I only have a few months worth of memory," Emmanuel admits. "So before that, I have no idea."

Dean's heart skips. An image of Cas sinking below the river flashes through his mind. He swallows hard. "I'm sorry, but uh, how did that happened?"

"Oh, it's a strange story. You may not like it."

"Believe me, I will," Dean can almost taste the answer that is about to be delivered. There is no way he would let it pass.

"A few month ago, Daphne was hiking by the river, and I wandered into her path drenched and confused and...unclothed," Emmanuel looks briefly uncomfortable toward the end, but his face soon softens into a wondering smile. "She said, God wanted her to find me."

"Who's Daphne?"

"She found me and took care of me. We live together," Emmanuel answers as if it is no big deal. Cas (the river-why on Earth didn't he try to find the body) is looking back at him without an ounce of recognition. It drags up what Dean has been trying to push down for several months. It's suffocating.

_God_ wanted her, a total stranger, to find him?

Fuck you, Dean thinks viciously. He is fucking done with God and his sick sense of humor.

"Enough about me," Cas says. "I didn't even ask for your name. That was rude of me."

Cas extends his hand, ready for a handshake.

Like they are strangers.

"Dean, uh, Dean," he manages weakly. He feels hollow.

Warm and calloused hand grips him tightly, and it is gone.

"And you are?"

"Sam Winchester," Sam introduces himself, sounding far more coherent than Dean. "I'm his brother."

"Oh, is that why you asked me if I had a brother?" Cas looks interested. "Who's Jimmy?"

You don't even know the man you're wearing. It's the final nail to the coffin. Dean's throat closes off.

His mind conjures up the image of the Leviathan that took over the angel and contorted his mouth into a grotesque grin. It makes no sense. There is no reason to think of that now. This is a completely different situation. There is no monster involved. No one is trying to kill anybody and no one is bleeding.

There is only Emmanuel, a guy who doesn't know anything about hunters or angels. A guy who lives with a chick named Daphne.

_Cas is dead. He's.. gone!_

The cruel, mocking voice laughs in his head.

"No one you would be interested," Dean replies with a forced smile. He wants to turn around and run. Yet, he forces himself to stare at the set of blue eyes that is clear of guilt and anguish. This is Emmanuel, he reminds himself.

Cas is alive, but he is still gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Daphne is not home and there are no patients for him to treat, Emmanuel usually goes to a nearby park. He would sit down and watch the world go by for hours. He never gets bored. Each person has their own unique light drumming underneath their skin, and it is such a sight to behold. He doesn't unsterstand how no one else seems to be fasinated as he is. Maybe it is because he has no memory and everything is still fresh to him.

As he gazes at the Winchester brothers, he revisits the thought that people would never cease to amaze him. Sam's light is difficult to see, for there is a disturbing darkness surrounding it, but what peeks out through it glows pleasantly.

And Dean.

He has the brightest light Emmanuel has ever seen. It is peculiarly familar. The amnesiac can't take his eyes off it.

Emmanuel lightly gives himself a mental shake. He shouldn't be so distracted. He came here for a job. He shifts his attention toward the younger Winchester and chastises himself for not snapping out of it sooner. Sam is squeezing his injured palm painfully.

"Sam, what are you doing?" Emmanuel takes a step forward then stops. It is difficult not to snatch the man's arm and just heal him. But he still remembers that man who ranted about the Devil and evil sorcery. Forceful healing isn't always welcome. He has a feeling that Dean is very protective of his brother and doesn't want to alarm him. The injury is not critical. He can wait.

Sam pulls his hand close to himself. "No, Emmanuel. I, I need this," he fixes his eyes on the ground. "Pain helps."

Emmanuel doesn't understand the sentiment. Many came to him to ease their pain. "How can it help?" It comes out as a demand rather than a question. He's surprised at his own tone.

Sam's eyes flickers toward his brothers'. Emmanuel knows that they are having a complicated conversation through their silence. He wishes he could understand what they are discussing.

Finally, the younger brother lets out a small sigh. "I'm seeing things that aren't suppose to be here. Pain grounds me to the reality."

He mulls over this. "Your hallucination has to be taken care of before you stop hurting yourself."

"Yeah, that's about it."

Emmanuel slowly raises his hand. "May I?"

Sam closes his eyes. The healer can feel a desperate hope radiating from the other man. "Please, go ahead."

Emmanuel touches the man's forehead lightly. He instinctively navigates through the mind and-

He stumbles backward. He thought that he would be treating a schizophreniac, but the chaotic mess he has just seen is far more hellish. It is a wonder the man is even standing. The mind is on the verge of collapsing entirely.

"What happened to you?" Emmanuel whispers in horror.

The older brother looks stricken. "Is it that bad?"

"I don't-," Emmanuel notices how pale both brothers have gone, and inhales deeply, scrambling for calmness. These boys needs him and he needs to focus. With a more steady tone he says, "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting that. Can I take another look?"

Sam seems incapable of speech. He manages to nod jerkily. His hair falls limply down his face, trying yet failing to hide his vulnerability. Emmanuel purses his lips, and initiates the touch once more. This time, he is able to find what is preventing the Winchester from keeling over on the spot.

"There is.. I've never seen something like this before, but there is some kind of a wall in here. Did somebody tried to help you before me?"

"Yeah, he was- a pretty powerful dude," Dean answers in his brother's stead.

"I can sense that. I don't think I can rebuild this," Emmanuel squints his eyes, searching through his options. "The best I can do is metaphorically patching up the wall a bit with the fallen bricks. This would perhaps lessen the frequence of the hallucination, but it'll only be a temporary measure. If you push it, it won't be able to handle the pressure."  
Emmanuel feels lost. Before this, he has always been able to coax mind and body into its rightful state. He could provide peace and comfort in certain degree. And now, standing in front of the torn and frayed mind of this brave man, there is so little he can do. What good is his power if he is unable to help? He bows his head. "I'm sorry I can't do more."

"It's okay," Sam says softly. Emmanuel shakes his head. "No, really, Ca-Emmanuel, it is. You're helping, that matters."

The amnesiac isn't proficient at parsing through complex mess of human emotion, but even he realizes that this is a strangely heartfelt declaration from someone he had known for less than thirty minutes. Perhaps the situation is making the man emotional.

"I can patch up the wall while you sleep," he offers as a way to escape from this stressful situation.

Sam glances at his brother. "Yeah. Could you do it now?"

Emmanuel gets to work.

* * *

Emmanuel is sitting beside unconscious Sam with his eyes closed and his hand on his patient's head. Sunlight beats down on them, bright and merciless, yet neither moves. Dean checks the clock. 2:43 p.m. An hour has passed. The older brother feels jittery.

Dean watches them uselessly on the opposite side of the room. He is sitting hunched on a dingy chair of the motel, leaning heavily against the small table. He desperately needs a drink, but he can't. Not while Sam is knocked out cold and the healer is frozen beside him.

The sun creeps toward him, and bathes the corner Dean is at with light. It warms his clammy skin. He can't stand it.

Dean gets up and stiffly walks toward the window. The curtain is thick and ugly, attesting the owner's poor taste. He doesn't care as long as it does its job. He yanks the curtain close.

"Who the fuck installed this fucking curtain?" He growls. It won't close properly. There is a gaping beam of light. He tugs at it a few more times furiously, but desists at the ominous creak from the windowsill.

Frustrated, Dean goes back to his seat and scoots the chair out of the way of narrow beam of light. He slumps down once again. He feels like he won't be able to stand up any more. He gathers his arms up together on the table and leans his head against it. His eyes burn. He didn't sleep well yesterday. Not that peaceful sleep is everyday commodity to the Winchester, but it was anticipation rather than a nightmare that chased away his rest last night. The turmoil is greater than he anticipated. He feels burned out.

A slight presence casts a shadow in front of him. The hunter doesn't acknowledge it.

"It's done. Sam will be asleep for awhile longer," Emmanuel declares but hesitates. "May I ask what happened to him?"

The room is dark, yet the pain and sadness in those blue eyes stands out vividly. It makes it easier to recognize the angel in this stranger. A hysterical laughter bubbles beneath Dean, but he suppresses it with clenched fist. "Someone did this to him," he bites out.

Emmanuel sits on the chair opposite to him. "You're angry."

"Well, yeah. Dude broke my brother's head."

"He betrayed you, this dude," Emmanuel observes. "He was your friend?"

Was he?

Dean doesn't want to remember, but his thought reaches out to the angel who got blown into smithereens twice because one human asked for his help. The one who couldn't meet his eyes in the ring of fire.

Cas, who doesn't remember any of this shit anymore.

"Yeah, well, he's gone," he replies thickly.

"That's good."

Dean's head snaps up at the uncharacteristically vicious remark from the previously mild mannered healer.

"What?"

"If you saw what he did," Emmanuel shakes his head. "He deserved to die."

Perhaps, right after the angel declared himself as God, Dean might have felt satisfaction at those words. But after all those months he has spent -as much as he doesn't want to admit to himself- grieving and looking back on where it went all wrong, it doesn't sit right. It only digs into the old scar.

"Honestly, I, I don't know if he is dead. I just know that this... whole thing couldn't be messier," Dean shakily tells the ghost that is wearing a familliar face. He knows that he should shut up, but the words keeps tumbling out of his mouth. "You know, I used to be able to just shake this stuff off. Whatever it was, it might take me some time, but... I always could. What Cas did... I just can't – I don't know why."

"Well, it doesn't matter why."

"Of course it matters," he snaps. How dare he. What right does the guy have to reduce everything they has been through in those simple words?

"No," the healer cuts him off before he can start his indignant tirade. "You're not a machine, Dean. You're human."

It gets him stumped. Of all things, this free permission to _feel_ is not what he expected.

"Dean?" At the lengthening silence, Emmanuel half stands and takes a step to the left, as if he wants to come around the table and stand close to the hunter. The narrow beam of light catches the left corner of his eyes. It sets fire in that pool of blue, just like the night in the barn when the angel came to him in sparks of light. The healer squints. He turns his head away from it, only to stare intensely at the man infront of him.

With a rush, Dean wants his friend back. He wants Cas to be here telling him this. That Dean can rage and grieve as he wishes. That Cas will take it, and not leave again. That after Dean finishes giving few choice words, they will work out all the crap between them and return to being close friends again. He is tempted to spill the entire bean in the hope of making the angel remember.

"It must be weird not knowing who you are," Dean speaks without quite planning to.

Emmanuel cocks his head at the non-sequitur. Nontheless he answers, "well, it's my life. And it's a good life."  
He sits back, satisfied that Dean is talking again.

"Yeah? How come?"

"I had so much help. I couldn't do anything right for a while, but Daphne was very patient. Now, I found that I could help people in return. I'm grateful for this," Emmanuel's smile is earnest and content.

It effectively stops whatever words from forming behind the Winchester's mouth. His spark of hope wisps away. He thought that Emmanuel was fake, a flimsy shell that replaced the real deal. But that smile, Dean can't even remember if he has ever seen Cas this relaxed. He suddenly realizes, that Cas has paved a new and better life with no memory and no Winchesters around.

Dean is at a loss of word. He feels hurt and betrayed all over again. The deal with Crowley, breaking Sam's wall, letting those monsters out... The hunter has suffered for months in the aftermath. How come Cas gets to foeget evetything and live happily with a clean slate? How could he leave Dean behind so thoroughly?

He imagines telling Emmanuel everything, smashing his illusion of _good life_. He imagines telling the healer about the angels and Leviathans and all the broken things in the world.

He imagines dragging Emmanuel with him in the mud, just like he dragged his brother away from Standford.

"How about you? What do you do for a living?" asks Emmanuel before Dean is able to properly sort through his feelings. He opens his mouth.

"Me and my brother, we hunt," Dean glances at Sam, sleeping with a serene expression after months of tormented dream. A second of indecision comes and goes. "-animals, that hurt people."

"You mean like grizzly bears or something?"

"Yeah, or something." Hiding supernatural reality from a supernatural being, God, what the hell is wrong with his life? He needs a drink. Now.

Emmanuel cocks his head in consideration. An unmistakable look of admiration soon fills his blue eyes. "You save people."

_Damn it, Cas. We can fix this!_

_Dean, it's not broken._

Dean can't stand the gaze. He averts his eyes. It's difficult to swallow.

"We try."

* * *

AN:

Please R&R? Your comments would make my day :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Hey, how you feeling?"

Sam Winchester wakes up to his brother's voice calling out to him with barely hidden worry. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and pulls himself up.

"Well rested," the younger man replies, feeling surprised at his own answer. "How long have I been sleeping?" He twists toward the window. The sky is on the verge of getting darker. He hopes he hasn't been asleep for 2 days or something.

"A few hours," Dean provides much to his relief. "So I guess the mojo worked?"

"Yeah," Sam is able to sense some kind of barricade inside of his mind, redirecting his thoughts so they wouldn't go to certain places. It is disturbing, but that is far better than the Devil creepily stalking him. It also doesn't feel as intrusive as Death's wall, since the newly erected barrier has much weaker presence. It feels more like a makeshift shack about to fall over than a solid wall. That image is a warning enough not to poke it unnecessarily.

"Speaking of Emmanuel, where is he?" Sam inquires, craning his neck to see if the said guy is in the bathroom.

Dean turns his back against his brother. "He went back to his home,"  
he mutters, and lifts a part of the dismantled guns on the table. He grabs a rag and focuses on maintaining the weapons. Sam narrows his eyes at the needless act, having witnessed his brother's anxiety ridden weapon cleaning fast the day before.

"Emmanuel is Cas, isn't he?" Sam checks just to be sure.

Dean's jaw tightens. "Yes."

The younger man notices his brother's fingers twitching slightly. This means Dean is itching for a drink, and has only been suppressing the urge because of Sam's incapacity. The older man notices the scrutinization, and he knows that Sam knows but only scowls.

_Cas? Black goo? I don't even care anymore. And you know what's even better? I don't care that I  
don't care. _

Sam recalls the first time Dean has ever mentioned Cas after his death. He was completely out of his mind at that time. Nothing else would have loosened his tongue. Sam suddenly gets very tired of this - edging around the issues, pretending to be fine, ignoring the chance that literally came knocking at their door, everything.

He sighs and pointedly asks, "you let Cas, who has no idea who he is, just go?"

Dean doesn't even look at him. "What, should I have tied the guy down? He had places to be."

Now he is just being deliberately obtuse. Sam leans forward, willing his brother to goddamn listen. "He would have stayed on his own if you told him that you were his friend."

_Slam!_

Sam doesn't flinch at the sudden noise. He would have been surprised if it hadn't come. Dean exhales raggedly, and finally glares at him right in the eyes. "You think it's that cut and dry?" He throws away the rug and stalks up to the his brother, all tightly coiled emotion. "Sure, let's tell him we were friends. And then what? You know what he did."

"Dean," Sam says quitely. "He was only trying to help."

Dean barks out a laugh. It is hollow and ugly. "You think that would do jack squat in making him take everything in stride? He doesn't know anything," The older man scrubs his face wearily, and sits down on the bed as all the steam leaves him. He runs his fingers through his hair. "He's like a damn civilian, Sam. You think he's gonna believe us just like that? We were hunters and the whole Apocalypse crap was difficult to swallow. You tell him all and he could snap or, or disappear, who knows?"

Admist the hurt and anger Dean is radiating, Sam recognizes the real question he is asking.

_How can I drag him back to this?_

The younger man thinks of the description of Emmanuel he saw on the internet; gentle, unassuming man who refused to be paid for what he did, the one who said he was just happy to be of help. He sounds like a good man. Hell, Sam knows that at his core, Castiel is a good guy. The angel made some terrible choices, but he died(in a sense) trying to fix his mistake in the end. Sam could empathize. He wishes he could just let Emmanuel be.

"Dean, you know we need Cas's help," Sam feels like an utter hypocrite. In the past, he tried so hard to get away from this life, and wanted the supernaturals to leave him alone more than anything. Yet here he was, proposing that Cas has to be back in the game, that what little life the guy has carved out means nothing. The fact that they are coping with the problem that Cas let out in the first place doesn't bring much comfort.

"Him trying to help was what caused all this," Dean retorts. The words are tough, but there aren't much fight behind them.

"We don't know how to stop the Leviathans. We don't even know where to start." Sam justifies himself as he stares down at his hands. "Cas might know something."

Castiel, not Emmanuel. They needs an angel who has all his memories, not a peaceful healer roaming from town to town.

Sam hates how it is always their jobs to make these decisions and stop the world from offing itself.

Dean doesn't reply. He cleans and reassembles the guns one by one, and puts down the last one on the table.

"Tommorrow," Dean says at last. "We call him tomorrow morning. Let's just... give him a day."

_It might be the guy's last day._

Sam hesitates, but nods mutely. The world hasn't end yet. They can still afford to give Emmanuel a few more hours of peace.

* * *

The sun is already beginning to set. Emmanuel hastens his pace a bit. He didn't plan to stay this long. Thirty minutes, at best. He was used to treating people almost instantly. But dealing with damage as extensive as Sam's was beyond his imagination. He had to spend a good hour manipulating the debris in the man's mind to form a semblance of barrier.

Then, there was Dean.

He does't understand why he felt so reluctant to leave the man. By all means, Emmanuel should have left the moment he finished rebuilding Sam's wall. There was nothing more he could do. But as soon as Dean's slumped back came into his sight, he had this compulsion to sit down and offer his company. It all felt so natural. Something nagged at the back of his mind.

Of course, that could have been his conscience telling him that he had been forgetting about Daphne. She said she was fine, but she had a habit of doing that, so he ought to have thought of checking up on her. He usually did, actually. What was different this time?

There is no use delving into it, thinks Emmanuel as he approaced the house. It isn't like he would cross path with the Winchesters again. He ignores the strange pang in his heart and retrieves the key from his pocket. He puts a small pressure on the door, and widens his eyes as it proceeds to slide open. It is already unlocked. He feels a prickle of unease.

"Daphne? Did you come home early?"

Emmanuel slowly steps into the house, and stops. Daphne is silenced and bound on the chair. Her eyes are frantic with fear and worry.

"What-,"

"_You_ are Emmanuel?" A foreign voice exclaims from his left side.

Emmanuel turns and recoils in disgust, because the man in front of him has the most sickeningly twisted and hideous darkness writhing inside him.

"You were supposed to be dead," the man says, but it sounds like it's coming from a far away place. His feet carries him toward the intruder by themselves. He feels no fear. He is certain, yet oddly vacant. A primitive part deeply buried inside him guides him, and the only thought that fills his mind is that the creature has to be destroyed.

"Fuck-."

Emmanuel puts his palm against the now trembling thing as if he has been doing this for all his life and light shines out of his hand, eraising the repulsive being from existence.

The body topples to the ground. At the same time, Emmanuel is slammed with images unfolding behind his eyes. He instinctively understands that this is his memory, the part of himself that he has been missing all along.

_Light bulbs shattered and sparks rained down on him. He saw two men waiting for him, armed with guns. They started to open fire, but it didn't faze him. He kept striding foward until he stood in front of the green eyed man._

_"Who are you?" It was said with utter suspicion. _

_"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he said without much inflection._

_"Yeah. Thanks for that," the man reared back and plunged the knife into his chest. He looked down, and pulled it out without much concern. Another attack followed. He blocked it with ease and put the attacker to sleep._

Emmanuel blinks in confusion as the vision dies down. That was Dean Winchester in his memory. Why didn't Dean say that he knew Emmanuel before? No, more importantly, why did Dean tried to kill him? Dean is a good man, so why would he just start shooting-

He isn't able to follow his line of questions further as another sets of images spring forth.

_He was in another dark, enclosed space. Four people surrounded him, each armed with gleaming silver blade. He looked around wildly and locked his eyes with one woman. "Sister, please don't do this." _

_The blond woman dressed in sharp suit regarded him cooly. "You're the one who has to be stopped, Castiel."_

_"You don't understand, if you knew-,"_

_"Silence. You'll return home and learn your place."_

_With that, two men rushed torward him. He ducked, letting one blade swish the air above him harmlessly, and whirled to slash the other man's abdomen with a blade that suddenly appeared in his hand. There was a horrible scream, but he ignored it, too busy to jump out of the survived man's enraged attack. They parried back and forth, but he took the man by surprise by punching the man in his blind spot. He kicked the man in rapid sucession, sending him crashing down on the pillar. _

_He took a moment to gather himself, but that apparently was too much of a luxury. The dark skinned woman almost sticked the knife in his heart. He strained his arm to push the attack back, and managed to put some distance between them. When the woman rushed in again, he used her momentum. He sank his knife into her, but a sudden pain in the back of his knees made him lose his balance. He twisted his body and found the dark haired man he had kicked earlier rasing his leg. He didn't get a chance to evade. He skidded along the floor and the blonde woman was waiting for him. She pushed him down, and no matter how much he buckled, he couldn't get away. The other man sneered down at him, and began to utter series of guttural words. He screamed and curled himself into a ball as a painful yanking sensation intensified- _

Light flares behind his eyes. Buzzing noise filles his ears.

_Castiel, you son of a bitch! -an angry voiced broke through the static- I gave you everything you asked me to give. I gave you more. This is the thanks I get? - white noise buzzed out. The voice turned pleading-Help me, please. You promised-_

Sharp, high-pitched wail pierces him, and Emmanuel gets thrown back to the present.

Oh, Gracious.

He falls to his knees. He feels numb. He remembers how easy the grip of knife was in his hand, and the senation of slashing through flesh still lingers like a bad aftertaste. So much violence. He remembers the scream. He hugs himself tightly. What kind of person was he?

Castiel. _Cas_.

A puzzle piece clicks into place.

Was he Cas?

His eyes widens in horror.

Was he the one who betrayed Dean and devasted Sam's mind?

In his memory, he showed no hesitation as he murdered those two men. God only knows how many people he had killed to achieve that level of sufficiency. Those people, they were only trying to stop him.

He moves his hand toward his chest. It is where Dean planted his knife in him. His shirt crinkles under his fingers. Why isn't he dead? He should have died. The attack was supposed to be fatal. He closes his eyes shut. What kind of monster is he?

"Mm- mmph!"

A muffled yell comes into his notice. He looks over his shoulder, momentarily surprised to find another presence.

Daphne.

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry."

Emmanuel unsteadily climbs to his feet and rushes toward her. He frees her without too much fumbling.

"Daphne, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine," she shakes her head. "There's more important thing. Emmanuel, he was looking for you."

He glances at the corpse with burnt out eyes. "I killed him," he mumbles. How did he know he could kill the man with only a touch?

"That's-, Emmanuel, look at me," Daphne forcefully grabs his chin and makes eye contact. "I know it's going to sound crazy, but that man wasn't human. He was a demon. A demon as in, as in an evil being from the Bible. You saved me. Do you understand me?"

A demon? Is that what that black mess under the man is called?

"Demons are real?"

"Yes. I couldn't tell you before because it was so hard to explain."

"Daphne," he doesn't want to ask, but it makes too much sense. "Am I, am I a demon?" He doesn't want to believe that the repulsive darkness also resides in him. But it explaines why he doesn't feel the need to eat or sleep. Why he did things that no human could. He isn't human.

"Oh, Emmanuel," Daphne looks appalled. "How could you think that."

He can't stand her kind gaze. He doesn't deserve it. "My memories, I regained some of them. I don't think I'm human."

"That doesn't mean you're a demon."

"You don't understand, what I did-,"

"Christo."

He blinks up at her at the completely nonsensical phrase. "Pardon?"

"Your eyes would have turned black if you were a demon," Daphne simply holds his arm until he fully comprehends the information. "Yours still remain blue."

He lets his breath out shakily. It doesn't make what he did magically all go away, but nonetheless it is a huge relief. Daphne gives one last squeeze to his arm and lets him go.

"Daphne, did the demon tell you why he was looking for me?"

"He didn't seem to know who you are. He said they, demons heard about you and wanted to check if you were the real deal. He wanted to take you and see," here she gives a nauseated quiver. "What made you tick."

He stares down at the corpse one more time. It makes things clear. "I have to leave."

"You don't have to," she is quick to reassure him. "I got contacts with the Hunters, we could prepare more thoroughly-,"

"That's not what I meant. Demons are not the only ones looking for me," he takes a step back to put a distance between them. "I have to leave before they think you are like me."

"What do you mean?"

"I... I killed and ruined many lives. There are people who want to stop me. If they think you are like me, a, a moster, I don't think they'll be forgiving."

"Are you sure you're remembering things right?"

That response is not on any list of things he anticipated to hear. He stares, dumbfounded. "What?"

Daphne looks determined to drill her point home. "I've only known you for a few months, but I knew you when you had nothing. And the first thing you said you wanted to do? It was to help people. I don't think a monster would be like that."

The thing is, he desperately wants to believe her. He wants to believe that he killed in- a self-defense or something, that there is a good explanation for what he remembers. But what he saw in Sam's head, that wasn't something one could do accidentally. That was pure, malicious torture.

"Daphne, I never thought I would willingly hurt or kill people. I never felt like a bad person," Emmanuel slowly confesses. "But it's as you said. I was only Emmanuel for a few months. I was this, other person, for the rest of my life. I don't know what made me, him, do what he did, but it was unforgivable." He bows his head, feeling ashamed of what he did, the extent of his sins he couldn't remember yet. "Because he had the same ability as me. He could have healed people, but instead he chose to do harm."

"Emmanuel-," Daphne takes a step forward, but he flinches and backs away.

"If my memory returns, if I remember everything, I'm afraid Emmanuel wouldn't be enough to stop who I was," he pleads as he sees Daphne opening her mouth. "Please let me leave before I could hurt you."

He is unable to look at her anymore as those green eyes shines with unshed tears. He fixes his gaze on the tip of his shoes until he hears her say,

"What do you plan to do?"

* * *

AN:

Thanks for your reviews! Flashback scenes are from 4x01 and 4x20(Imagined fighting scene between angels before Jimmy woke up)

And Yay! Cas's faulty memory is finally in play. Please R&R? Would love to know your opinions :)


	6. Chapter 6

Sam calls Emmanuel in the 6 o'clock in the morning.

It seems like a cruel and unusual punishment to call someone this early on Saturday, but Sam and Dean have overestimated their ability to sit tight. In their hope to give Cas more time to enjoy his new life, they forgot that they already went through this waiting game recently. They spent the day before yesterday wondering whether Emmanuel was Cas or not. Throwing the men of action in yet another idle introspection time was not the brightest idea.

Besides, the healer technically wouldn't need to sleep, so Sam is able to throw politeness to the wind.

"Hello, who is this?" A distinctively female voice answers.

Sam is flummoxed at the unexpected twist and stutters, "Uh-, I, I thought this was Emmanuel's number?"

"It is. If you're looking for him, I'm sorry but Emmanuel left."

"What? When?"

"Just yesterday. He had ...new revelation. Try Georgia, he was headed that way."

"Oh, of course, thanks-."

The phone beeps, signaling the end of the conversation. That was terse, Sam stares at the phone. He returns back to the room feeling a little lost.

"What did he say?" Dean asks while he puts his boots on.

Great, Sam internally groans, why is he acting as a harbinger of awkward and potentially devastating news these days? He really doesn't appreciate this. "It was a she, and apparently, Cas left the town."

Dean's head whips up. "What? When?"

"Yesterday. Judging by the timing, I think it was right after he went back home. Did he say anything to you?"

"No, just that he had a good life here."

"Alright, whatever his reason might have been, let's go before we loose him. She said he was headed to Oregon."

The brothers gathers their possessions with practiced ease. They are about to leave when Dean raises his hand and says, "hold on, who's this 'she' you're keep talking about?"

"How should I know?" Sam shrugs his duffel bag on his shoulder. "I guess it was Daphne. Cas did say he lived with her."

"She didn't tell you her name?" Dean presses.

The younger man frowns, figuring out what his brother was getting at. "No... come to think of it, she didn't ask for my name, either."

"Yet she told you Emmanuel's whereabouts just like that."

"You think Daphne was lying?"

Dean gives him a significant look. "Maybe it wasn't Daphne."

Sam sometimes hates their line of work. It makes him capable of imagining the worst case scenarios that wouldn't even be on the list of options for most people. He sighes.

"Good thing I found Daphne's address in my research, huh?"

The older brother chuckles weakly.

"Yeah, Mr. Stalker, your obsessive streak saved the day."

The car stops in front of the white, orderly looking house. The windows are all intact, and no scream comes. Not that it means much, but it is nice to know that they don't have to rush into the middle of a hot zone in panic.

They approaches the house wearily, not openly waving their weapons in case they are wrong. Sam puts his hand on the demon killing knife which is hidden behind his back, and knocks.

"Is anybody in there?" More knocking. "I was just on the phone. Please, I have something personal to tell Emmanuel."

No one comes. The brothers are exchanging looks to decide on their next course of action when the door opens.

And _splat_!

Sam sputters as water hit him out of nowhere.

"You're a hunter?" Dean asks as he discreetly let go of the gun he was about to whip out.

Duh, Sam wants to say as he wipes down his face. It isn't like there are whole lot of people out there who greet their visitors with splash of water.

"Who are you?" The woman asks suspiciously. There are circles under her eyes and her brown hair is wild. She is the picture of frezzled nerve. It is lucky she hasn't seen their weapons yet, or the conversation would have ended before it even started.

"Hunters. Can we talk inside?" Dean said, radiating annoyance.

What the hell, Sam shoots a glare at the idiot's direction, and pasters on an apologetic smile. "We are Emmanuel's friends," he quickly offers before his brother's tone can get them thrown out. "We knew him before he lost his memories."

The woman hesistates, but doesn't open the doors any wider.

"We know him. Look, Daphne, right? I know that he wouldn't have eaten or slept unless you prompted him. And even then he would have never complained about being hungry or getting sleepy."

For some reason, Dean's little speech makes her look more afraid. Sam's jaw slackens a bit as he recognizes the expression on her face. He saw it on his brother often enough.

She is trying to protect someone.

Does she think that they are here to attack Cas?

"Emmanuel helped us more times than we could count," Sam speaks slowly, trying to sound as earnest as possible. "We thought he was dead. Now that we found him, we're trying to help him in return." He pushes aside a small doubt asking him, oh really, aren't you trying to push the angel back to the war and get him killed again?

Daphne looks indecisive, but holds the door open for them.

The brothers follows her in and checks their surroundings instinctively. They raises their eyebrows as they found salt poured on every window sill. "Salt lines, well, aren't you prepared," Dean comments.

"The one time I took out the mat with a Demon Trap to wash it, a demon came in. I'm feeling justifiably paranoid," she pauses. "Any recommendation on more thorough defense system?"

Sam glances at the doormat in question. "I thought you were a hunter?"

"I'm not. I just had unlucky encounters with demons," she shrugs. "The hunters I met weren't terribly informative."

She ushers them to sit and disappears into the kitchen. She is very firm on the idea that she needs caffeine in her bloodstream to talk with them. The Winchesters agree.

"You're doing pretty good," Dean acknowledges, slightly letting go of his grumpy attitude. "Might want to load up on silver and iron. Lots of nasties hate them. Also, get the anti-possession charm tatooed if you already haven't."

"Noted," Daphne says as she returns with three cups of coffee. The brothers thanks her for her hospitality.

"So, Emmanuel," Dean starts, happy to get on with the business. "Is he really gone?"

Daphne regards him in an assessing way. "How did you meet him?"

For a second, Sam thinks that Dean would openly protest that it is irrelevant, but the older man only purses his lips.

"I was in a really bad place," he quirks a humoreless smile. "You can say it was Hell," he stares down at his loosely linked hands. He quietly confesses, "he saved me."

That is more honest than Sam could have imagined. Surprised, he gives a long look at his brother, then turns to check Daphne's reaction. A sense of deep relief is etched onto her face.

"So he was a good man," she breathes out.

There is a story behind that comment. "Could you tell me what happened to him?" Sam probes gently.

Daphne nods, coming to a decision. She tells them how a demon came yesterday while Emmanuel had been out, saying that rumors about Emmanuel's power was circulating among demons. She says that Emmanuel came back to find her tied up. "He just," she gestures vaguely. "Strolled in. He killed the demon like it was nothing. Then, the next thing I know, he was crumbled to his knees."

Sam frowns in concern as her voice waveres toward the end. Daphne sees this and nods in appreciation. She takes a sip of coffee, steadying herself.

"He came back to himself and released me. He seemed shaken at the fact that he just killed a person. I told him it was a demon that attacked me, he," she shuts her eyes. It's obvious what she is about to say hurts her. She reveals, "he asked me if he was a demon."

Sam and Dean sit rooted in their seat, eyes blown wide in disbelief. They cannot believe their ears.

"What?" Sam lets out.

Dean is appalled. "How can he think that," he whispers.

"That's what I said," Daphne smiles weakly. She looks relieved that someone shares her sentiment. "I proved him wrong on that point, but he insisted that he was a terrible person, that he wasn't even human. He said he remembered what he did. He didn't remember everything, but it was enough to convince him that he was unforgivable."

Sam wonders what and how much Cas remembered to think that he was a demon for even a second. Did he remember the whole mess with Crowley? Did he even remember why he chose that course of action?

Sam thinks of his own horrified reaction at finding out what his soulless self has done. He still feels guilty about it, but he knows why he acted like that and it gives him a strength to try and seek redemption. He imagines not knowing the reason, waking up one day only to find his hands soaked in blood.

And Emmanuel has been trying so hard to help people.

He feels like throwing up. He glances at his brother's pale face and knows that Dean is feeling no better than him.

"He said he had to leave, that there were people persuing him for his wrong doings," she continues on her tale, lost in staring down at the black coffee swirling in her cup. "More than that, he was afraid that he would revert back to his former self once he regained the rest of his memory and hurt me. I tried to convince him that he might be remebering things wrong for hours, but he was adamant. He won't even tell me his real name."

Dean's Adam's apple bobs. He opens his mouth but no sound comes. His throat seems to have locked up.

"Did he really go to Georgia?" Sam asks in his brother's stead.

Daphne shakes her head. "No, he said to give a false trail for anyone looking for him. He told me people would leave me alone if I said specific place instead of pleading ignorance," she locks her eyes with Sam, conveying _I'm trusting you here and if you lied to me, so help me god_. Getting the message, he nods.

"So where did he go?"

"He didn't tell me exactly. I just know that he was going to take a bus."

"Thank you, Daphne. We'll find him."

Sam stands up. His brother belatedly followes suit. Before they could go, however, Daphne stops them, saying, "wait, can you tell me Emmanuel's real name?"

Dean purses his lips. His eyes are dark and troubled. "He might have been right in that regard. Not that Emmanuel was ...a bad guy, but that knowing him is dangerous. He," Dean swallows. "He tried to save the world and it made him lots of enemies. They might try to torture you if they think you know something."

Daphne considers that. "I already lived with him for months. A name would do no more harm," she looks determined, voice fierce. "He's worth knowing."

Dean remains speechless for a moment. "Yeah," he agrees roughly, meeting her gaze. "His name is Castiel. We called him Cas."

"Cas," her eyes turn soft. "Please take care of him."

"We will."

Dean squints as he sets a step outside of the house. The sun has come out fully while they have been inside. As he walks down the steps, he thinks that Emmanuel must have been on this very spot last night, confused and guilty and scared of himself. He imagines him coming out of the brightly lit house, quietly heading toward the dark road he could hardly see. He wonders if Emmanuel looked back at the last second and said _I'm sorry, Daphne_ before he moved on. He wonders if he asked himself whether he could ever come back again.

"Dean," Sam calls before he gets into the car. He seems unable to find a word for what he wants to say. He remains eye contact with his brother for a long moment, then ducks into the car. He sighs, "he shouldn't be alone."

Dean pauses.

"Yeah, let's go find him."

He starts the engine.

* * *

AN:

Thanks for reveiws, I was touched!


	7. Chapter 7

_He was staring out the window._

_"They won't take long," someone approached him from behind. He could see a reflection of a bearded face on the window._

_"You don't know that," he acknowledged the presence. "They may find more wayward orphans along the way."_

_"Oh, don't get cute."_

_"Right," he fully turned to face the old man, Bobby. "Pardon me for highlighting their crippling and dangerous empathetic response with 'sarcasm'," he gestured awkwardly. He was tired. "It was a bad idea - letting them go."_

_Bobby gave him a look. "Come on. You don't let Sam and Dean Winchester do squat. They got what they gotta. You know that," Bobby's voice was gruff, but it was oddly comforting. "Anyway, we want Eve, we need coordinates. So we can stand here bellyaching or we can go poke that pig 'til he squeals. Thoughts?"_

No, not again, Emmanuel shakes his head. He thought that the trickle of memories would be one time deal, but it kept coming and going. It is frustrating to get small bits and pieces that add up to nothing. They all mixes up with one another; a necklace that remains cold in his hand, working with Dean as FBI agents, hearing Sam's voice _Let us help_ echoing in his mind, staring down at the bodies littering the ground, watching Sam and Dean carry his injured body to bed before he passed out, listening to Sam telling him that he would find a way to kill Cas...

It hurts. Emmanuel slumps against the bus window. They are only memories, yet he has never felt so drained and exausted before.

He wonders if this is what waking up from a dream felt like. He once asked Daphne what sleeping was like, and she answered, "I've never tried to describe it. Well, okay, you close your eyes and at some point you...black out, stop thinking, and fall asleep. Of course, often dream plays out in your head, but that's not really a conscious activity so you're not technically thinking, and I'm sorry I'm rambling, aren't I?", which only fueled confusion at that time.

The point being, if dreaming is being involuntarily subjected to watching a scene play out in his head, that is fairly what he has been getting. He is disgruntled to discover that he went straight to the dreaming stage without actually falling asleep. "Stop thinking" is precisely what he needs since memories continues to assault him.

A concrete timeline to pin down each of his memory would have been a great help, he muses wistfully. The Winchesters are in fair amounts of his memory, but try as he might, he can't straighten out what kind of relationship he had with them. The memories of them are so contradictory. One minute, they are ready to kill him, and the next minute, they act friendly. The most baffling thing is - Emmanuel figured this out when he revisited his first memory - that Dean has never met Cas before he shot him.

It poses a new question. Why get close to someone you considered a monster in the first place?

_Are you sure you're remembering things right?_

Emmanuel pushes Daphne's voice out of his head. There is a fleeting thought that maybe, he is judging Past-him too harshly, but he doesn't want to defend Cas, not even in his mind. It isn't like the Winchesters are in a forgiving mood, either.

_We hunt animals that hurt people._

Dean uttered those words with odd intensity, like he was speaking of entirely different matter. In hindsight, Emmanuel realizes that he was the animal in question that Dean and Sam came to hunt. A part of him whispers that he should have gone straight to them after he regained enough memory to put it all together, that he should have faced the punishement those two planned to dole out.

If only the memories would stop coming back.

The problem is that the Winchesters don't seem to know how to put him down permanently. Guns and knives did nothing, and him being alive was the proof that Sam hasn't found a way yet. If Cas woke up while Emmanuel was confronting the brothers...

No, it is better he stayed away.

The bus stops, announcing that this is the last stop. Emmanuel lets himself be pulled into a swam of humanity and gets out of the confining vehicle. He checks for his option; walk to the nearest city, or try another ride on the bus?

"Sorry," a teenager says as he bumps into him. Emmanuel furrows his brows as he feels the boy taking his wallet. He stares at the boy's back. It's not like he is particularly attached to money. There is only about 5 dollars inside it, anyway.

On the other hand, he would like to take another bus. He wants to put as much distance as possible.

Decided, Emmanuel follows the boy. The shock of red hair makes his search easy. The boy darts into the alley way.

"What the hell?!" He hears a shout. Emmanuel finds the boy grabbing at the measly amount of money in his hand. The expression on his face is borderline appalled. He shakes the wallet upside down but only a bit of dust comes out. "Did I pickpocket a newbie homeless guy?" He mutters.

Emmanuel thinks about that. As kind as Daphne was, her house wasn't his home. Even if it was, he can't go back without putting her in danger. "I think you can technically call me homeless," he replies honestly.

The boy almost drops the wallet. He gapes at the healer's appearance, and quickly searches for the escape route. He silently curses himself as he realizes that he cornered himself to the dead-end back alley. The boy has a contemplative look on his face, likely gauging his chance of running if he were to lunge forward.

Emmanuel remember his 'brother' attacking him, and pales slightly. He doesn't want to fight. He isn't sure he won't fight. "Why did my wallet make you unhappy?" He asks to distract the boy.

The boy looks at him incredulously. It's the look that Emmanuel gets often. His social skill is rusty. "'Cause you're fucking poor," the teenager snaps. Emmanuel sees a shade of Dean in that defiant tone.

He tilts his head. "What did you need the money for?"

The boy seems ready to let out a rude string of sentences, but remains silent as he searches the healer's face. He must have found something. He flicks his eyes downward.

"My mom's sick," he speaks. It sounds like he is still questioning the wisdom of continuing this conversatiom. "She needs to stay in hospital. But they are gonna kick her out if I don't scrap enough money by the end of the month."

"I can heal her," Emmanuel slips out the information before he can think deeply about it. He wonders for a second if he should stay low, but he sees no reason to. He is far away from Daphne, and if the Winchesters tracked him down, it would mean they were ready for him. Demons.. smiting them would cause Cas's return faster, but perhaps he could just scare them away. It isn't a reason enough to watch idly by. He nods to himself. "You won't have to worry about the money."

The teen frowns at that. "You don't even know what her dignosis is."

"If there is a known dignosis, it is highly likely that I would be able to heal her."

The boy snorts. "I already have a doctor, mister. What I need is a money."

"I can heal her instantly," he insists.

A tiny glimpse of heart stopping hope flashes on the boy's face, but it gets rapidly replaced by outrage. "If you're one of those religious fanatics that jerk people around-"

"Please," Emmanuel intones. He would never get used to this whiplash of human emotion. "I'm not lying."

The boy stares at his eyes. After awhile, he lets out an uncomfortable chuckle. "Let's say you're telling the truth. Why, why do you want to help me? What do you get out of this?"

There is no word to describe this burning need inside of him. So as always he says, "I just want to help."

The boy raises his eyebrow skeptically. "What, you are just trying to be an angel or something?"

Emmanuel flinches. He doesn't want to be compared to angels. Angels are Guardians. Cas was no such thing. "I'm no angel," he mumbles hoarsely. He steps back so that the boy can go if he wants to. The healer knows that he has no way with words.

"Fuck, maybe I've gone insane," the teenager mutters. He sweeps his hair backward. "Listen, I'm not gonna forsake modern medicine and sing praise for faith healers, okay? You're just- I just have to try everything for mom's sake. You hear me?"

"Of couse," Emmanuel answers, bewildered.

The boy sighs. "Alright. So, what's your name anyway?"

The question unexpectly trips the healer. Who is he, Castiel or Emmanuel? Which one is the lie?

"Emmanuel," he tests. It sounds like a wistful dream. He smiles ironically.

_God is with us_.

He wonders if he wanted to subconsciously taunt himself.

* * *

Sam and Dean is sitting in the cafe, milking the benefit of free wi-fi. Well, Sam is. It's his turn. Dean is giving his eyes a rest. He scoruged through CCTV footages all night yesterday.

"Where the hell did Cas learn to do this disappearing act?" Dean grumbles, nearly thumping his head on the table. He is dead tired.

"Well, he did evade both Heaven and Hell all by himself for, what, two or three years?" Sam listlessly speaks. "I guess he had practise."

"Does he even remember? Dude never done this as human before, did he?" A pause. "Hold on, do you think he's zapping around?"

"Then we're screwed. He can be anywhere in the world. Let's just presume he's moving like a human, okay? It's hard enough as it is," Sam rubs his forehead. He misses the days he could have simply hit the library to search for the supernatural creatures that left distinct signals. Storms and electricity failures, those are drastic enough. Why couldn't Cas help them along with nice, easy to follow footprints?

The young man throws his hands up in defeat. "I don't know where else to dig. He doesn't have a credit card and he left his phone in Daphne's. He doesn't need to go to motels or restaurants. He's using a bus, sure, but he could also walk for miles without getting tired."

"Gee, Sam, can you be anymore optimistic?" Dean chugs down his coffee.

They managed to go the bus station near Daphne's house and follow a couple of trasport spots Cas used, but the trail got cold after that. Interrogating people didn't bring much results. If Cas still had his trench coat, more people would have noticed him. However, as Cas had been wearing ordinary dark clothing the day he left, people only made confused noise when confronted with the description of the man.

As their last straw, the Winchesters discussed the possibility of using a summoning spell, even though Cas would freak out majorly if he got dragged up like that. It wasn't a valid option anyway. Dean didn't remember the spell anymore, and all the useful books they got went aflame along with Bobby's house. The conversarion died down quickly in a depressing note.

Thus here they are, eating their late lunch, surfing through internet even though they don't even know what signs they are looking for. Sam nibbles at his sandwhich, one hand aimlessly on the keybold.

He suddenly stops chewing.

The hunter comes alive all at once, shoving the rest of his food down his throat to free both of his hands.

"What, what is it," Dean cranes his neck at the change in his brother, then just stands up to see the computer by himself. Mike Miller's twitter account is on the screen.

_Faith healers are real. Holy crap, Emmanuel, God was really with us._

It was posted 3 hours ago.

"How did you find it?" Dean asks, almost awed at his brother's researching prowess.

"I wasn't serious," Sam also looked stunned. "I just typed in 'faith healer Emmanuel' as a lark. You know, like googling your name when you're bored."

The brothers stare at each other. They didn't think to take this approach before because it seemed like an obvious dead-end. Cas was on the run now, and that meant remaining inconspicuous, which meant no mysterious healing and no revealing name.

It appears Cas couldn't just stop helping people.

"That son of a bitch," Dean grins. Sam begins to track down the twitter guy, all previous fatigue forgotten.

They have a lead.

* * *

AN;  
If you're wondering what would have happened if the boys didn't find that clue, you can go to

:/ / archiveofourown . works / 2127114 /ch apters /4643511

It deviates from chapter 6. I had two different plot lines running in my head, so this is the result XP

Hope you enjoyed the story. Please R&R so I could improve!


	8. Chapter 8

When they find Cas, it is almost surreal. For all the effort the brothers put into finding the angel, they didn't plan ahead for whay they would do afterward. They thought that their lead was skeptical at best and thus didn't expect to hit the jackpot so soon.

They come face to face with Cas on the platform number 4, waiting for a train that would arrive in 10 mitnutes. The three of them simply blink at one another, all caught off guard at this meeting. Cas recovers first, and suggests that they should move to a more sparsely populated place. The Winchesters look at each other then nod.

"Dean, Sam," Cas greets them at last. His tone is still soft. His eyes are not. The innocent wonder that was present in Emmanuel's are now replaced with something more grim and old.

"Cas."/"Emmanuel." Sam and Dean speaks at the same time. They click their mouth shut, feeling awkward. It's not everyday that you're not sure of what to call your friend.

The source of their problem curves his lips wryly. "I'm still Emmanuel," his voice is almost reassuring.

Sam doesn't know how to respond. After how elusive Cas has been, the hunter worried that they would have to physically restrain the guy to make him stop and talk to them. He didn't expect Emmanuel to be this civil. Even Dad had been more surly than this when he found his sons chasing after him.

"Right," Dean says. "So, uh, how much do you remember?" He shuffles his feet.

"I know I'm... Cas," the guy looks at Sam, but isn't able to maintain eye contact for long. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't know that I did that to you."

"It's okay," Sam is sincere, albeit a bit surprised at the direction of this conversation. It would be a lie to claim that he has no residual anger at what Cas did to Dean, but when it comes to the wall, he has forgiven the guy a long time ago. The wall wasn't perfect to begin with, and well, he can relate all too well. "I understand how one can lose sight while trying to the right thing," he tries a smile.

The smile isn't returned. Emmanuel continues to stand there rigidly. He doesn't look like he comprehend a word he heard. Sam wonders if damning words would have been easier for the angel to swallow.

"So what are you planning to do?" Dean asks, noticing the tension.

Emmanuel tilts his head, baring his throat slightly. "I don't know," he admits.

Dean licks his lips, incapable of making further speech. He stares at the angel like he would disappear into the thin air at any moment. This does seem like an opportune moment.

"Would you come with us?" Sam asks in his brother's stead.

Emmanuel's gaze swipes over the brothers, then he ducks his head. It makes it hard to see his expression. "Of course," he answers slowly.

It is unsettling, this meek acceptance. From what Daphne told them, Emmanuel almost had a full on mental breakdown. He ran fast and ran far away, severing all contacts. Sam knows what it is like to be suddenly slammed with one's own forgotten bloody past. With nothing to hold onto, memory and imagination alike would work together to create an elaborate snare of guilt. As the man spent days with only his thought as a company, he shouldn't be this calm and collected. Sam glances at his brother and sees similar concern mirroring in his eyes.

Emmanuel appears unconcerned with their silent exchange.

* * *

As he drives with the new passenger in the backseat, Dean wishes for the familiar presence of the Impala. He wants well worned grip of the wheel and the seat that is practically molded after his skin. He wants the world to stop tilting madly. Cas was dead then a civilian faith healer then a recovering amnesiac who skipped like a ghost. Following after his friend's trail was dizzying to say the least.

His eyes flickers toward the rearview mirror. Emmanuel is gazing out the window with a blank face. Dean hates the fact that he can't read him. Even with no memory, Emmanuel was able to tell him exactly what he needed to hear. On the other hand, Dean has no idea how to approach him. He doesn't want to open a can of worms by putting his foot in his mouth.

Come to think of it, he doesn't even know the extent of Emmanuel's memories. _I know I'm Cas_ could mean anything and there are tons of unanswered questions. For one thing, does the guy remember Sam and Dean as his friends? If so why didn't he come to them instead of running? If he remembered the less than ideal way they parted, why come so quitely?

And what the hell did he remember to think that he is a demon even for a second?

Sam clears his throat not so subtly beside him. Dean finds his little brother silently asking him with his eyebrows what the hell they were going to do with Cas. How should I know, Dean frowns. He isn't even sure where he is driving to. The younger man sighs.

"Oh, it's time for lunch already," Sam suddenly speaks out loudly. He sends Dean an absolutely quelling glare before any sarcastic comments can be made. Dean raises his eyebrows in mock surrender and follow his lead. "Emmanuel, you want to eat something?"

The guy raises his head, belatedly realizing that he is supposed to answer. "I, don't eat," he sounds confused.

"Oh, right," Sam agrees quickly. "Well, can you wait here a bit while we grab something?"

"I will wait," Emmanuel nods seriously.

Dean doesn't like the idea of leaving the guy alone, but they can't very well discuss their plan in front of the subject. Reluctantly, he searches for the nearest place that will sell burgers. Trying to get in the way of Sam's healthy diet isn't petty at all.

They arrive at a place called 'Burgatory'. Dean wonders if the universe is trying to kill him with irony today. He stops nonetheless as bad name is no reason to avoid a perfectly good place.

"Alright, we need a plan, fast," Sam says as he opens the door.

"How did you figure that out, genius," Dean snarks. "The problem is, where do we even start?"

"Well, maybe we could help him regain his memory?"

Dean stops and looks at his brother as if he is insane. "You think that's wise?" His eyes inadvertently strays toward the direction his car is in. "Dude remembered a few thing and already he called himself a demon."

"He would know he's an angel if he remembered everything. You think letting him stew in his ignorance would be better for him?"

The older brother orders two chicken burger sets in lieu of answering. Sam's face says that the only reason he is not bitching at Dean for randomly ordering for both of them is because they have more pressing matter at hand.

"Dean, you know we can't hide things from him forever."

"There are things better left alone," Dean says heatedly. If there was any permanent method that could take Sam's time in Hell away, he would have gladly taken it. "Yeah, he's not having an easy time now, but who knows how much worse it can get?"

"I don't know, my mind was pretty good with conjuring up nightmarish reality," Sam winces at his brother's pained look. "Sorry. Besides, we might not get a choice. Demons heard about Emmanuel. Sooner or later someone else would figure out that Cas is alive. He would be a sitting duck without his memory."

Dean crosses his arms. For a second he wonders if they should send Emmanuel away to some sort of safe house. Afterall, if anyone starts to have an inkling about Cas's survival, they would begin the search with the Winchesters. Then again, Daphne's sickened face is still fresh in his mind. Isolation would be the last thing Cas needs. He scrubs his face. "You think Emmanuel would be amenable to learning his past, though?"

Sam deflates. "We'll have to see."

* * *

AN:

Thanks for all the encouraging comments :) Please R&R so I could improve!


	9. Chapter 9

The brothers come back from the lunch more tense and anxious than before. Emmanuel is reasonably sure that it has something to do with him, but they don't immediately tell him about it.

Dean mumbles something about checking-in early as he drives the car out of the parking lot. It makes Sam arch his brow exasperatedly. He explains that they need to discuss something once they settled down in the motel more comfortably. Emmanuel doubts that any of them would relax simply because of a change of venue, but nods. He's hardly in a position to argue.

There is not much he can do inside the car. The window has become the most fascinating thing to watch. Emmanuel squints down at the reflection of himself on it. Up to his shoulder, he can see well enough, but his face blurs into a grey asphalt road below him. He puts his hand on the spot where his face should be, trying to chase away the feeling of being cramped in, confined. He knows that he could have gotten out to stretch his legs when Sam and Dean left him alone.

He didn't.

After helping the boy who pickpocketed him, it occurred to him how pointless his running was. People who needed his help could no longer contact him with ease, and he was no closer than before to solving his real problem. He dithered, feeling even more lost as his tentative plan revealed itself to be hollow. Buying a train ticket instead of taking a bus was his pathetic attempt at changing something.

He isn't going anywhere now.

The car comes to a stop in front of a black and white patterned building. This motel looks better than the last place Emmanuel saw them staying in.  
The bell above the door chimes in at their arrival.

"Hey, there wouldn't be a room with three beds in it, is there?" Dean asks to the man behind the counter.

"Sorry," the man replies. He is distracted by his phone. "We can send you up a cot if you want."

"I won't require an extra bed," Emmanuel interjects, not wanting to trouble anyone.

The man's head snaps up in attention. He looks between the three of them with a downing look of comprehension. "Ri-ight," he grins. "It's a bit early but, would a king-sized bed suffice?"

"No!" Dean shouts."Jesus, we're brothers."

"Those two are," Emmanuel agrees, for Dean looks truly offended. He is still uncertain why the proclamation of brotherhood is necessary here.

The man slides his glasses upward. "Uh-huh."

"A single room with two beds please," Sam slaps his wallet down on the counter. "No king size."

The man continues to smile knowingly. For some reason, his wink refuels Dean's ire.

"Dude, it's not the first time people made a mistake about us," Sam speaks in a reasonable tone as they leave the cheerful man behind.

"When there were only two of us! Seriously, he saw three men and that was the explanation he come up with? The man needs to get his mind out of the gutter."

"I didn't see any gutter," Emmanuel says almost reflexively. He is half surprised at himself.

Dean snorts. "Yeah, like you totally didn't flame his imagination. Great help back there, Cas."

Emmanuel cannot fully stop himself from flinching. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Dean turns his head, sounding off footed. As he sees the amnesiac, a series of emotion flashes rapidly on his face . "No, I-. Never mind," he shakes his head and quickens his pace. He shoves the key inside the lock with more force than necessary. The door makes a rattling sound.

Emmanuel is the last person to come inside the room. As the door closes behind him quietly, he can feel the tension in the air increasing. The brothers are standing around the room like a couple of kids who realized that they couldn't put off their works anymore.

"You said we needed to talk," he states quietly, leaning against the door. He is no more eager than them to start this conversation, but if they felt the need to keep him alive for this, it must be important.

The brothers trade glances. After a moment of silent negotiation, Sam clears his throat. "Emmanuel, we were hoping if you could, uh, elaborate on how much you remember about your past."

"Why do you want to know?"

"You're-," Sam looks almost constipated with the effort to choose his words carefully. "There are some people who would be less than pleased when they see you. We don't want you to be caught off guard and get hurt."

Emmanuel contemplates telling the man that he is trying too hard to be delicate. "Why do you need me safe?" He asks for clarification instead.

"What?"

At this rate, some might get an idea that they are speaking in different language. Emmanuel, however, remains patient. "I can't make sense of most of my memories. I would have to describe every single image floating in my mind to you. If you tell me what you need me for, it would be easier to ascertain whether or not I can be of use."

The brothers stare at him blankly. "Wait," Dean raises his hand up slowly. "You think we want you safe because we want to, to use you?"

"Isn't that the case?"

"No," snaps Dean. He looks stung. "Nobody is using anyone here."

Strange, he thinks. Why is he so adamant? "I betrayed you," he points out.

"So what. You think I should just use you in return?"

The green eyes are blazing. Emmanuel carefully lets out a breath that he didn't know he has been holding. "That would be my penance," he confesses.

The silence is deafening.

"Right," Sam says abruptly admist the tension that is sharp enough to shred someone. "Why don't we all sit down for this?" He follows his own suggestion by dragging a chair out to face the bed and sitting down on it. Dean fumes, leaning heavily down on the chair, but copies the motion.

Emmanuel gathers that he is to sit on the bed. He hesitantly moves toward the spot. With no wall behind him, he feels strangely vulnerable.

* * *

Dean feels sick. He grips the edge of the chair tightly. Ever since that day in Daphne's house, a small corner of him whispered that whatever he ended up finding would be broken. He was able to push that part away, however, since worrying about it was useless when the guy was still missing. Besides, Emmanuel he saw in that motel had been strong. Even without his memory, even without the knowledge of his angelic nature, he was steady and reassuring in his gentleness. Dean thought(hoped) that his quiet strength would be enough.

This is wrong, he thinks as he watches Emmanuel folding himself smaller. Cas has always been ready to lay down his life, but not like this. The angel had formidable will to the point of being frustratingly stubborn. The only times he fiercely burned his life was when he thought he was doing the right thing.

What he is now witnessing is nothing close to that. Emmanuel is just laying himself down like a tool to be picked and discarded.

_Are you coming?_

_Of course._

Did Dean break the angel into this? He remembers the future, where Cas was perpetually drugged, laughing in despair. The former angel shrugged and accepted Dean's order without a care.

God, he told himself this was never going to happen in his time.

"Why did you follow us?" He asks thickly, unable to shake the image off his mind. "How do you know we're not trying to use you for something bad?"

"You won't," the answer comes back, as if it is obvious. It's infuriating.

"Well, that's your problem," he sneers, leaning forward. "You're so fucking naive."

Emmanuel narrows his eyes and lifts his chin. The familiar spark of life is both thrilling and nauseating. "I may be naive," he allows in a tone that is anything but conceding. "But I know that I killed many. I know that you hunt those who hurt people. Am I wrong to having assumed that you would stop me before I turn into a monster again?"

"Yes, you're wrong," Dean hisses. He couldn't stop Sam from turning to Ruby, and he couldn't stop Cas from working with Crowley. He couldn't convince Cas to let go of the souls. He knows that he always fails when it comes to people that matter to him. Cas can't just put his life into his hands like this. "Your head is screwed. Are you even remembering things right?"

The angel stares at him steadily. "I remember you leaving to save the lives of two kids while I was torturing someone so bloodly that he spilled everything to me in 5 minutes," he doesn't raise his voice, but it unfailingly stabs into Dean's ears. "What do you remember?"

How convenient, Dean thinks humorlessly. Cas doesn't remember him being Alastair's star pupil, does he? He wouldn't have mentioned that if he did. Well, fuck him.

"I remember you dying because of me!" he yells. More than once, he doesn't dare speak the later part of the sentence out loud.

Cas shakes his head slowly, blue eyes wide. Is he denying the truth?

"Dean," he hears a voice calling him softly. It's Sam.

It's like a cold bucket of water.

Abruptly, he realizes that he revealed too much, that he should have kept his mouth shut. There is a pity in his little brother's eyes, and he can't stand it.

He stands up, almost knocking the chair down. He ignores it and keeps walking. At the last second, he can't help but look back. Emmanue half-rise out of the seat as if to follow him.

_You stay here_, he considers saying.

He shuts the door.

* * *

AN:

Thanks for all the reviews! You guys keep me going. This was a tough scene to write. Dean in an emotionally charged situation is surprisingly difficult x(

Hope you guys liked it. Please let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

Sam didn't know, but Dean did try to burn away the coat once. Not just toying with the idea, but actually making a fire to toss it in. It was few weeks after Bobby died. Dean had slipped past Sam who had fallen almost comatose after brutal hunt they had. They were going to have their car changed the next day. After hours of fruitless attempt at falling asleep, he thought he might as well get rid of the baggage he carried with him. Fresh start, if you will. If such a thing ever existed.

He took a swig of whiskey and stood in front of the little fire burning merrily. Just by standing close, his face felt warm. Or maybe it was the alcohol speaking. Dean clutched at the coat, poised to throw it in.

This was a bad idea, Dean realized as he stared at the play of red and yellow light on the clothes. The combination of fire and the coat took him back to the night when he trapped the angel in the ring of fire.

_Where were you when I needed to hear it?_

He had answered that he had been there, but had he? Blah blah Raphael. Did he ever really tried to learn about the war seriously? Did he ever looked for a way to help him?

_I think you call him when you need something. We're fighting a war._

The blood stain starkly came to life beside the deep shadow the fire threw in. He suddenly felt like a little boy trying to get rid of the evidence of his crime. Each stain told him that he had so many chances to pull back the angel, that he failed every time. The guy told him that he couldn't afford to care, that he was forced to do regrettable things. Why did he just stood idly by until it was too late?

He staggered back as if he had been burned. He fell to his bottom.

"Cas," he croaked. It felt like years since he uttered his names. He fell quiet. He realized that he was straining his ears to hear the fluttering of wings. He let out a broken laugh. Of course, third time was the charm. He finally managed to kill the guy. Figures that no one would be left to listen when he finally got his head out of his ass.

On a whim, he fed the rest of his drink to the fire. It roared up, no longer merry but furious, craking the very air. He stared at it until it ate itself up.

The next day, the coat rested in the trunk of the new car.

* * *

Dean hits the wheel irritably. Things that he doesn't want to remember keeps popping up in his head. Emmanuel's callous disregard for himself shook him up. It was as if he was stading in Osris's trial again, facing the ghost of a friend that he killed. Worse, since this ghost was explicitly offering to march himself up to his death once again, conveniently oblivious to Dean's sin. "Stupid son of a bitch," he mutters to himself but stops-

as he hears the flapping of wings.

He whips his head around, heart in his throat. There is no one except for him. He still looks, knowing that angels can remain invisible if they want to. He grips the wheel tightly.

Another whooshing sound comes, followed by rattling noise. That's when he feels the wind on his face.

The window is slightly cracked open, letting the wind whistle by. He must have forgotten to close it properly.

_Baaang-!_

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!" A driver in a red car hollers as he whips past him.

"You watch it," Dean yells back a second too late. The car is already fading into a dot. It might be for the best. He knows he deserved what he got. His attention slipped dangerously. It was only a wind, for god's sake! He pulls over to the side of the road, not wanting to crash and hear Sam bitching in the E.R. He leans heavily against the wheel.

The sun is still too goddamn high. Bars wouldn't be opened yet. A swirl of complicated mess of feelings threaten to lap at his feet once more. He turns his car back to the town. Apparently, driving isn't good enough to vaporize every thought in his mind. He needs booze. He will drink in a fucking park if it comes down to it.

What are you doing, a corner of his mind asks him incredulosly. You finally found him and this is what you do?

Dean doubts his move for a second, millions of things that he thought he was too late to do springing in his mind. Shouldn't he be elsewhere? But the voice dies down as he finds a liquor store. He gets out of the car, dithering. That's when a sign across the street catches his eyes.

He can't help it.

He begins to laugh hysterically.

* * *

Well, that went well. Sam puts his hand over his eyes. Given that Dean and Castiel both had a history of running off in the middle of emotional conversation, perhaps this was inevitable. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Emmanuel standing still with lost expression on his face.

"Don't worry, he'll be back," he tries to put on what he hopes is a reassuring face. "He just needs a little time."

Emmanuel nods, but doesn't seem to be paying attention. He closes his eyes, trying to make sense of something. He ends up shaking his head.

"Why is he so distressed about my death?" his question falls softly, like a shoe that a child dropped from high atop a ladder, welcoming its owner to follow its fate. Emmanuel continues to ponder, unaware of how pale his companion has gone.

Thanks God Dean isn't here, Sam thinks to himself. He shouldn't be hearing this.

Night after night, ever since the day in resorvoir, Dean has been trying to drown himself with alcohol. He wouldn't talk about the reason, and Sam soon gave up on asking, too aware of the fact that his hallucination made his brother feel guilty for his grieving. All he could do was pretend to be nonchalant everytime Dean carried that tattered trench coat into their new car.

Cas should know this. If only he could figure out how to put all of this in a word that an amnesiac angel could understand.

"How else do you think Dean would react to your death?" Coming up with nothing, Sam just asks point blank. He is frustrated with his lack of ability.

Emmanuel tilts his head. "He had no qualms about killing me the first time he met me. And I betrayed him recently. I thought he would want to see me dead."

"Oh," Sam mutters. "That wasn't the greatest first or last impression, was it," he resents the fact that the logic isn't entirely unsound. Of course, they really had to have everything complicated. He resists the urge to bang his head on the table.

"But is that all you remember? Is there nothing that would make you think that we were on the same team?" Sam is almost desperate. If all Cas remembers about them is bad moments between them, any attempt at convincing him that they were friends would fall flat. He might as well be weaving tall tales about unicorns frolicking with demons to the guy.

"There is," Emmanuel answers, pondering. "But I speculated that I was decieving you into trusting me."

"For what end?"

Sam doesn't think that the angel would have thought deeply about that matter, too busy to cast himself into the role of an irredeemable villain. Sure enough, Emmanuel looks uncertain, facing a hole in his theory. "To become a president?" He suggests hesitantly.

"Exact- wait, what?"

"When you want something really really bad, you lie," Emmanuel recites slowly, clearly quoting someone. "Because that's how you become a president," he pauses. "I'm afraid I have no idea where this came from."

"Yeah, me neither," Sam shakes his head. Who fed a crappy political show to the angel? That shouldn't have been allowed. "Perhaps you might want to be a bit more selective in your channel surfing."

"Surf what?"

"You know, television. I think you come across that while watching TV."

"Oh," nods Emmanuel. He observes the man in front him strangely. "You are at ease around me."

Sam blinks. "Yeah."

"Aren't you worried?"

Everything that transpired today comes to his mind and he can't help quirking a wry smile. "Not about myself."

The angel stares at him for a long moment. His eyes flicker toward the closed door.

"If you want to know something, ask me," Sam offers quietly. "I won't be able to answer everything, but I can give you some basis." He debates on whether or not he should be telling the next bit to the man, if it is too much. But he has been in that place, in that tangle of self-loathing, and he knows the words that he burned to hear. He licks his lips.

"I see myself in you. So believe me when I say you're not a monster you think you are," he looks straight at the blue eyes, willing him to listen. "Please give yourself a chance."

This time, Emmanuel doesn't continue to stand rigidly. He wavers, taking a step back. For a second, Sam thinks that he managed to scare away the angel, too.

"I-, thank you."

When the words land like a wisp of wings, Sam feels boneless with relief.

* * *

Donna carefully sorts through many clothes with a small notepad in her hand. She doesn't want to get an order lost among her long list.

"Hey, um, how long would it take to dry clean this?"

New customer, she sighes. Not that she isn't happy that her business is going well, but why couldn't customers come in a more orderly fashion? The flux between insanely busy days and boredly lazy days still irritates her.

She comes out of the forest of clothes, and finds a handsome young man about her son's age. Her professional smile turns slightly warmer.

"Well, you would have to wait for a day at least. We have-" Donna freezes as she witnesses the state of the article. The blood stain and black smudges on the trench coat are old. It looks like it came straight out of a horror movie. She slowly raises her head, images of robbery and murder scenes from the news flashing through her mind. The man's tight smile suddenly appears ominous.

"It's my friend's," the man hastily explains. She thinks he saw her surreptiously reaching for her phone. "He, uh," Donna listens, hands sweaty, wondering what kind of excuse the man would come up with. "Died."

The word falls flat between them.

It's not the whole story. The man opens and closes his mouth for further explanation, but it won't come to him. She isn't suspicious anymore. She is old enough to recognize struggling grief when she sees one.

"Oh," Donna says softly, not pushing. The man's hand on the edge the counter is white with pressure. He's on the verge of snatching the coat and just running back, she can tell. What the hell am I doing here, his face screams. She wonders how long he has been hanging onto this piece of clothes. She brushes the coat with her right hand. It's dirty, but it's neatly folded. Her ring catches the light.

"Three hours," she declares impulsively.

"What?"

"Give me three hours. It would be good as new," she flashes him a smile.

"Uh, wow, that fast?" he stutters, a bit confused at her change. However, the tension in his shoulders bleed out. She puts the notepad face down on the counter.

"That fast."

* * *

AN:

I think this was like the first 'comfort' chapter after 20K worth of journey X) Thanks for sticking by, folks! Hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought about it :)


	11. Chapter 11

Dean dully stares at the trench coat which is now neatly dry-cleaned and carefully folded into the corner of the trunk. He doesn't know what possessed him to do it after all this time. What's the point? It isn't like he can just present it to its owner. Dude wouldn't appreciate it. The thought makes his stomach churn.

He slams the trunk shut. He inhales loudly. He briefly wonders if he should leave the car here and walk back to the motel. It wasn't far and this wasn't his Baby anyway. He glances down. A chill from the cool metal climbs up througb his arm.

"Damn it," he mutters and gets into the car. 10 minutes, that is all it would take. He drove when he was pratically puking blood. Little alcohol can't hold him down.

He turns the corner as the motel comes into the sight. No cops, he feels triumphant. He glances around, looking for a parking space, and does a double take. The car comes to an abrupt halt, throwing him a bit forward in momentum. He quickly fumbles the buckle off.

"Cas!" He shouts to the figure under the streetlight, tearing out of the car. He thinks if he doesn't do something, this ghost would disappear like a whisper of sand.

The figure lifts its head. Sharp shadow recedes from his face and reveals bright blue eyes. "Hello, Dean," he rasps.

Dean's eyes burn. Fuck, you are drunk, he mocks himself, rubbing his eyes. As his desperate adrenaline fades away, he has to take a shaky breath in. With that comes a sobering relization. This is Emmanuel. "What are you doing here, man?" he asks a little gruffly.

The man in question cocks his head. "The manager was displeased with me when I stood near the door. He said I was chasing away the customers."

"No, dude," Dean says wearily. "Why aren't you inside?" _Are you going elsewhere?_

"Sam is asleep."

"And?"

"He needs his four hours. I'm waiting."

He thinks that this is a ridiculous excuse but the phrasing of the words trigger something in his head. Dean swallows. "He told you that?"

The man frowns. "I... no. I guess?"

Dean stares, mind going blank with too much thought. "You changed," he murmurs. He shakes his head at the other man's questioning gaze. "Hey, you want some drink? No, never mind. Let's have a drink."

He walks back to the passenger side of his car and grabs two bottle of beers from a box. He thought he would drink it tomorrow but why not? Sammy won't give him a bitch face when there is no evidence.

He plops down onto the curb near the lamp, leaning forward so he wouldn't bump into bushes. "Sit. My neck hurts."

Gingerly, Emmanuel complies. He accepts the bottle and opens it, mimicking Dean. It's both funny and sad to watch.

"I'm sorry," Emmanuel apologies.

Dean takes a swig. "For what?"

"I upset you."

The denial is at the tip of his tongue, but it doesn't feel worth it. It's both too true and too false to go anywhere near it. He focuses on the lukewarm taste of beer. Not the finest beverage I could have offered to an amnesiac, he thinks distractedly.

"How does your memory work anyway?" The question pops into his head and slips through his tongue, a result of double vision between a friend and a stranger he suffered through for days. "You just see something and remember?"

The amnesiac fiddles with the bottle, rubbing his thumb across the smooth surface. "I revisits moments of my life randomly. I don't know exactly when the incidents I'm seeing happened or why I acted in certain ways," he experimentally takes a sip, and lets the bottle rest loosely in his grip. "I find Castiel difficult to understand."

The fullname of the angel falls foreignly to Dean's ears. He looks up to moths flickering around the light. "Yeah, that makes two of us," he utters, feeling an odd camaraderie.

The silence between is not entirely uncomfortable.

"Dean," Emmanuel calls, breaching the night. He hugs himself slightly so that he has to look up to his companion. "Do you want me to remember?"

Dean freezes.

No. Yes. Maybe. There is no answer to the question. "I-," he starts, not knowing where the rest of the sentence would go. He has always been on the side of letting Emmanuel be when he argued with Sam, but with his inhibition lowered, he admits to himself that he won't be able to let Cas go. Sam didn't have to hand out logical reasons like potential information or safety measures to him. He would have readily grasped at any excuse to get the guy back. He hates that he's so needy and clingy at the vestige of his once close friend.

"Why do you want to know?" It comes out a bit defensively.

"Because I think you knew him best."

The set of blue eyes are neutral, waiting patiently for an order. Dean has to fight the chill running down his spine. His gut tells him that if he says yes, the man will go out of his way to do as he wished. An image of himself tipping the statue of an angel off the table in the Green Room flashes by. The guy is going to shatter himself all over again. For him.

It terrifies him.

"It doesn't matter what I want," Dean puts the bottle down, aware that he might drop it if he doesn't.

"Of course it matters."

"No, I mean," the earnest tone of it makes Dean falter a bit, taking him back to another moment, but he forges on. "You don't owe me anything, okay? You're not- a hammer, you don't have to follow what anyone says," as often as he got frustrated by Cas's stubborness in the past, the thought of wielding control over the guy makes him sick. He wants Cas to be Cas, not some twisted imitation molded by him. "What do you want to do? That's what matters."

Emmanuel averts his eyes. "I don't think I'm great at making sound judgements."

"What, you think _I_ am?"

"Better than me, certainly."

Dean is incredulous. What is the world coming to? Dean Winchester, a great decision maker declared by the Angel of the Lord. Ha, what a joke.

"Trust me, you're only thinking that because you've forgotten some important details," he rubs the back of his neck as the guy looks less than convinced. "I'm not gonna list out all my failings here but we all mess up. No one knows what the hell they are doing, not really. We just choose and deal with the consequences."

"But some price is too high to pay. What if I choose wrongly again? Too many has already died because of me."

The dread and resignation in Emmanuel's voice is hard to bare. It's as if the guy believes that he'll destroy everything no matter what he does.

And that's incredibly unfair. This is an incredibly childis idea, but Dean can't help but get idignant. Why is Emmanuel only remembering the bad things? There is no angel in creation who has cut and bleed himself for humanity more than Cas. Why can't he see it?

"Then we'll find a way to fix it together," Dean almost snaps.

Emmanuel blinks at him, as if he didn't expect such vehement defence from him. Dean locks his gaze with the angel because this time, he is really here, listening to his decision.

After a long silence, Emmanuel softly says, "I want to remember," as if someone would come snatching his answer and tear it apart for being wrong.

"Okay," Dean simply nods. He has thousands concern for either choices before the guy, but damned if he was going to stamp on Emmanuel's tentative shine of will.

"I want to redeem myself, and I can't truly do that if I don't know," the amnesiac hesitatantly explains. "You would stop me if I turn bad again?"

"Yeah," it's hard to let the word out. His last attempt at 'stopping' his friend was nothing less than disastrous. He vows to himself that's never going to happen again. "But listen, if you're doing this just because of guilt-"

"You were my friend," Emmanuel cuts in gently. "I want to remember you."

And how do you reply to that?

Speechless, Dean ducks his head. He wants to say no chick flick moment, but even he has to admit that the ship has sailed long time ago. How does Cas always say these things in such a straight forward way?

He shakes his head, inclining his beer bottle. "Well, buddy, the next night out, we better get you better booze than this."

* * *

AN:

I started writing this fic with this scene in mind, having no idea that the characters would drag their feet so hard at the idea of talking. I'm happy that I fianally managed to make them sit down and talk :) Hope you enjoyed it! Please tell me what you thought about it


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